


Chapter 23 3/4

by Quills_and_Inkpots



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Begging, Biting, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Consensual Underage Sex, Dominance, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Prefects' Bathroom, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Masturbation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-19 12:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17002077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quills_and_Inkpots/pseuds/Quills_and_Inkpots
Summary: Harry has just left Dumbledore's office after learning about the Horcruxes and his role in the Prophecy.  Head too full of thoughts to go right to bed, Harry decides to make a detour... to the Prefect's bathroom.  What he finds within may change him forever.





	1. Questions

Harry left Dumbledore’s office, and though it was late and he was exhausted he knew his bed would be no comfort to him. His head was too full after his discussion with Dumbledore about the Horcruxes and the prophecy, death and destiny. He needed something, anything else to think about right now.

A thought occurred to him- perhaps it wasn’t too late to still make use of the Felix in his system? If indeed, there was any Felix left in his system. He pulled out the Marauder’s Map, searching the tiny footprints and names for the only one he’d cared about for months. Harry grinned. There he was, and to Harry’s luck, he was not in his bed, or the Slytherin Common Room, or the Room of Requirement that had proved impenetrable to Harry. Draco Malfoy was instead in a room on the 5th Floor, Harry knew it instantly as the Prefect’s Bathroom.

Harry’s grin widened, this was a room he knew how to get inside. But Malfoy in the bathroom? He blanched at the thought and questioned how that could be useful to him. Suddenly he remembered who else liked to frequent that bathroom- Moaning Myrtle. Moaning Myrtle who had bragged to Harry about a boy crying to her in the bathrooms- could it be?

He ran all the way up the two flights of stairs to the fifth floor, past the statue of Boris the Bewildered, and paused just outside the door, suddenly wondering how he would get inside without being noticed. Out of breath from his run, his heart pounding, and no better plan, he threw on his Invisibility Cloak, and hoped the liquid luck would kick in. He listened carefully at the door, and could hear the thunderous sound of what must be the bath filling. The sound might be the perfect distraction, maybe if he was quick he would be able to sneak in unnoticed.

Here goes nothing, Harry thought and whispered to the door, “Pine Fresh.” The door cracked open to admit him and Harry stepped inside as quickly as possible and pressed the door shut behind him as quietly as he could. He was overcome by a strong minty smell and thick, steamy air.

Harry turned around looking to see if he had been caught, but Malfoy’s pale figure was bent over the taps. Harry sighed a breath of relief, he was turning to edge his way along the wall when he stepped on his cloak, and almost slid off his feet. He caught himself against the tiled wall with a loud smack of flesh on ceramic just as the cloak slid off his body and into a pool of fabric at his feet.

Malfoy turned in alarm, and seeing Harry raised his wand defensively, “What are you doing here? Better yet, how did you get in here, Potter? You're not a prefect." Malfoy sneered. He was standing near the giant bath, towel draped over his pale shoulder and wand pointed at Harry. 

Harry kept his grip on his own wand, and tried to keep his eyes trained on Malfoy's face and wand, tried not to look at Malfoy's bare chest, or worse, his boxers. "Quidditch team captains have access to the Prefect’s bathrooms, or didn’t you know that?" Harry spat back. 

Malfoy glared at him with disdain, "WHY are you here Potter? Hoping for another midnight duel? Or just a bubble bath?"

Harry gripped his wand a little tighter and tried to think furiously for a response to his questions. A lie, an excuse, any reason to be here other than because I followed you. 

Malfoy grew impatient, "Or maybe I should curse you now and leave you in the halls for Filch to deal with, he's used to cleaning up filth."

Harry was angry, his adrenaline coursing through him, the steam rising off the bath making him feel sticky and hot. "Fuck you Malfoy!"

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Malfoy retorted immediately, and just as quickly looked mortified by his own words.

"What did you say?" Harry asked, his heart pounding heavy in his chest.

Malfoy made a motion with his wand and Harry reacted instinctively, "Expelliarmus!" He shouted, and Malfoy's wand shot out of his hand and into the depths of the bath, already full of frothy silver bubbles.

Malfoy's eyes were icy fire, he approached Harry slowly, determinedly, until he was inches from Harry's face, his chin raised and shoulders squared in a show of dominance and intimidation. Harry's wand was pushing into the skin on Malfoy's bare chest. His eyes never left Harry's and Harry felt petrified for a moment, feeling Malfoy's angry breaths across his face and his own breathing becoming more uneven in response. 

Before he knew what had happened, Malfoy had wrenched Harry's wand from his hand and flung it into the bath as well. "You want a duel? Now it's a fair fight." Harry watched in disbelief as the water rippled where his wand had just been. "What's the matter? Scared, Potter?"

Anger flared inside Harry and without thinking he raised a fist, feeling it connect painfully with Malfoy's jaw. In flashes he saw the surprise, then pain, then anger cross Malfoy's face. 

Then suddenly Malfoy's hands were around Harry's neck, pushing Harry until his back was against the cold tile wall. Malfoy's eyes were full of hatred, and Harry was struggling to breath, grunting as he flailed his arms, trying to connect with any piece of Malfoy he could reach. 

He was digging his fingernails into Malfoy's shoulder, trying and failing to get a grasp on his neck. Harry was starting to see white spots in his vision, his eyes losing focus, and he saw the expression in Malfoy's eyes change from blind hatred to something like horror and fear in response to Harry's face. 

His grip loosened up just enough that Harry could take a gulp of hot, humid air, and push back against Malfoy until he lost his balance. His fingers still entwined in Harry's robes, Harry toppled down with him until they were both on the floor- red-faced, heaving, and limbs entangled.

Harry was struggling to regain his breath, still weakened by the loss of oxygen, and Malfoy caught Harry's fists as he tried to strike him. Malfoy, keeping Harry's fists tight in his own, overpowered Harry until he was over top of him, a look of triumph on his face.

Harry felt powerless. He hated Malfoy, and he hated himself for following him here, for putting himself in this position. But he hated them both even more so for the way his body was reacting to the weight of Malfoy on top of him, the thrill of touching his bare skin, the feeling of Malfoy's hands restraining him. 

"What are you going to do now Potter?" Malfoy asked, face just inches away, reveling in his dominance.

Harry reacted in the only way he could. Instantly, instinctually, without thinking, and with all the passion of his anger and confusion. He kissed Malfoy on his stupid mouth, hard, catching his bottom lip in between his teeth and biting hard enough to draw blood.

Malfoy pulled away in shock. "What the fuck Potter?" Malfoy exclaimed loosening his grip and bringing his hand to his bleeding lip.

"Any other questions?" Harry asked, satisfaction, longing, and adrenaline coursing through him. 

Malfoy sneered, a scarlet bead of blood forming on his swollen lip. “Want your wand? You'll have to go in and get it yourself."

"Why, so you can drown me?"

Malfoy scoffed, "If I wanted to kill you," he moved a hand to Harry's neck again, grip tight but not quite choking him, "you'd already be dead." He relinquished his hold and pushed himself off of Harry, somehow leaving Harry more frustrated, confused, and aching than before. 

Malfoy climbed to his feet, looked back at him, and dove cleanly into the depths of the pool-sized bath. 

Harry sat up, torn. This had to be a trick. Perhaps he was going to lure Harry into the bath and then take his abandoned clothing, leaving Harry to traipse back through the freezing castle after hours, dripping and nearly nude. He didn't trust Malfoy, but he supposed he didn’t have much choice. The thought of Malfoy getting to his wand first, maybe even causing damage to it, was enough to bring him to action. He resolved to retrieve his wand and get out before Malfoy had the chance to curse him, or worse.

He stood, grasped the bottom of his robes and pulled them above his head, stripped off his shirt, damp with sweat, and kicked out of his shoes, socks, and trousers as fast as he could. He removed his glasses and perched them carefully on the pile of his clothes. Then he hopped in, boxers still on, at the nearest edge of the bath, immersing himself in the scalding, mint-scented water. He was careful to keep his distance as Malfoy emerged from the bubbles, drenched and holding his own wand in satisfaction.

Harry dove under the hot water quickly, eyes shut tight against the sting of soap, searching for the bottom, running his fingers desperately over the stone, hoping to feel the smooth wood of his wand. He swam, fruitlessly searching until he felt his lungs would burst and finally re-emerged, gasping for breath. He looked around to where Malfoy, closer now, bobbed nearby, rivulets of water streaming from his slicked back hair, gray eyes burning holes into Harry.

"Looking for this?" Malfoy smirked, pulling his other hand above the water, Harry's wand clenched tightly there.

"What do you want?" Harry's voice sounded braver than he felt. He was vulnerable, defenseless, almost naked, and slowed down by the water from making any quick movements. He was at Malfoy's mercy, which was likely what Malfoy had wanted all along.

"I want you to stop following me," Malfoy said.

"What?" Harry responded, caught off guard by Malfoy’s words.

"I want you, and your filthy house-elves, to stop following me."

"And why would I follow you?" Harry asked, stalling for time.

Malfoy looked over him indolently, "that is precisely what I'd like to know. What exactly is it Potter that you want so badly from me?" He was sliding long fingers over Harry's wand now and fixing him with a glare that was full of curiosity and loathing.

Harry's mind was racing, trying to figure out a way to get his wand back, a way that didn't involve the truth. Thinking quickly, he started to move toward him, hoping that if he could keep talking, could distract Malfoy long enough, he could maybe wrest his wand from him. "You really want to know?" 

Malfoy looked at him with trepidation but didn't move, just raised his own wand a little higher in response to the closing distance between them.

Harry stopped when he was just inches from Malfoy's face, leaning forward in what he hoped came off as confident instead of threatening. "What makes you so sure that it's not you that I want?" 

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he considered Harry's words, "You think me so small-minded that such an idea would intimidate me, frighten me?" He leaned back toward Harry, his mouth dangerously close, "maybe it frightens you?" 

Then his mouth was suddenly on Harry's and he could taste Malfoy's blood, sharp and coppery on the tip of his tongue. Could feel Malfoy's angry breath on his cheek. Harry was shocked and engulfed by the kiss, his mind couldn't focus on anything but the sensation of Malfoy's lips moving furiously over his, of kissing him back, of his desire to feel more of him, as much of him as he could. Harry's hands reached for Malfoy's wet shoulders, trying to pull him closer. Malfoy stiffened and pulled away from Harry’s grip and mouth, eyes distrustful. "You've made your point. You want it? Take it," and he flung Harry's wand away from them back into the water.

Harry felt a jolt in his stomach. He could dive down and seize his wand, leave, and he knew Malfoy wouldn't try to stop him. But something had changed in the past few moments, something real that was tearing Harry apart from the inside. He knew that if he swam away, walked away, he could never come back into this space, into this intimacy, into this moment of opportunity. He stayed where he was, staring fiercely at Malfoy, trying to read his expression.

Malfoy's eyebrows were raised as he watched Harry expectantly. Harry reached out a wet hand and Malfoy flinched but didn't resist as Harry touched the back of his neck, pulling him back to him with determination. Bringing him back until their lips were touching again, and Malfoy's stiff body was softening into Harry's touch, and Harry was hardening in response.

Malfoy was kissing him back roughly, full of need, his fingers winding into Harry’s hair and pulling it until Harry’s mouth was torturously pulled away from his. “Is this what you want from me?” Malfoy whispered, breathing hard into Harry’s ear.

“Yes,” Harry gasped. He was trying to restrain himself from pushing his whole body into Malfoy, from grinding his throbbing cock, contained only by his wet, clinging boxers, onto any part of Malfoy he could reach.

In response Malfoy grazed Harry’s neck first with his lips,then with his teeth, biting the soft skin there and making Harry call out in a mixture of surprise, pain, and pleasure. “Is this what you want?” He asked again.

“Yes,” Harry answered again, feeling himself shudder, his cock already harder than he could ever remember it being.

Malfoy must have dropped his wand back into the water as well, because his other hand had wrapped itself around Harry’s cock from over his boxers, squeezing firmly, “Is this what you want?” Malfoy asked, his voice rich with arousal and approval.

“Yes,” Harry repeated, desperation and desire clear in his tone. 

“Yes what?” Malfoy breathed, his eyes not leaving Harry’s mouth.

“Yes please?” Harry begged.

Malfoy kissed him hard, his hand squeezed Harry’s cock tighter and began to slide the fabric over the length of him, drawing an involuntary groan from Harry, who was so overwhelmed that he might come at any moment.

Harry reached forward, searching under the water until he found the waistband of Malfoy’s boxers, sliding his hand under them and onto Malfoy’s cock. Malfoy gasped as Harry grasped hold of it, thick and rock hard, and began mirroring the quickening movements of Malfoy’s fist. Malfoy let go for just a moment, hurriedly reaching under Harry’s boxers until the soft skin of his palm was stroking Harry roughly.

They were both thrusting into each other’s hands, mouths never straying farther from each other than their necks. The water was undulating and lapping around them, the sounds of their groans and grunts all but drowning out the sound of the water slapping against their skin.

The sensation of Malfoy’s firm grip stroking him feverishly, the feeling of Malfoy’s hard cock in his hand- at his mercy, the sounds escaping Malfoy, sounds he was making because of Harry, for Harry, were all too much. Harry couldn’t hold on any longer, he felt his orgasm building hard and fast, and suddenly exploding, Malfoy’s fist squeezing every last drop out of him as he gasped and shuddered in pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Malfoy gasped, thrusting harder into Harry’s fist as he came too, his mouth open and eyes squeezed tight. Harry, satisfied and in awe, felt a sudden need to see and feel Malfoy’s cum, the proof of Malfoy’s pleasure, and wished that it wasn’t dispersing into the water around them as quickly as he came. 

Harry felt like his whole world had changed, he was unable to process it all, so that he didn’t have to try he leaned in to kiss Malfoy’s- Draco’s lips. Draco was still panting, still coming down off the euphoric high as Harry brought his mouth to his.

No sooner had their lips touched than Malfoy pushed him away, hard. Eyes steely and full of disgust he looked at Harry. The look was so menacing and familiar that Harry thought for a second that Malfoy might curse him. If he had his wand.

Harry just looked back at him, confusion subsiding into frustration. “What?”

“Don’t touch me Potter,” there was real anger in his voice.

“A little late for that don’t you think?” Harry said, feeling his frustration become anger too.

Malfoy looked away, “If you ever speak of that again to me or to anyone else I’ll kill you.”

“You think you can just pretend that didn’t happen?” The volume of his voice had raised, was echoing around the empty bathroom but he didn’t care. “We’ll just have a wank together in the bath and then go back to sneering at each other in the halls?”

Malfoy’s eyes looked murderous and Harry was glad Malfoy’s wand was laying somewhere at the bottom of the bath, though he wished his own wasn’t. “What did you think would happen Potter? We’d become boyfriends? Hold hands and be seen snogging in the halls?” Malfoy spat, each word dripping in venom.

Harry didn’t know what he had expected exactly, maybe less animosity in public, maybe more secret meetings in the bathrooms. “I thought maybe… a truce or something,” his tone was softer, reflective.

Malfoy’s eyes flickered with something like vulnerability for a second but hardened again just as quickly, his tone too had lost some of it’s edge but none of it’s loathing. “I am not your friend, I am your enemy Potter. Remember that.”

“What if I don’t want you to be my enemy anymore?” 

Malfoy scoffed, but his tone was softer, “Neither of us has a choice, can’t you see that?”

“No, I don’t,” Harry insisted, his voice getting stronger at the crack in Malfoy’s facade. 

“Get your wand and get out,” Malfoy ordered.

“Or what?” Harry asked.

“Or I’ll make you,” Malfoy threatened.

They glared at each other over the cooling water for a long moment. Harry was searching for a sign, an indication of some reluctance, some hesitance in Draco’s hard exterior that he could penetrate to return to the promising intimacy they had just shared. There was nothing there but resolute hatred.

Finally Harry tore his eyes away, unable to bask in Malfoy’s radiating hostility for a moment longer, and dipped below the water again to swim in the direction Malfoy had thrown his wand. Coming up a minute later with his wand in hand, he looked back to find Malfoy still glaring defensively at him, and swam to the edge of the bath to hoist himself out. 

He shoved on his glasses, and continued to watch Malfoy as he climbed hastily back into his clothes, not bothering to towel himself off first, causing the fabric to stick awkwardly to his cold and soaking wet skin, his hair dripping onto the shoulders of his robes.

He picked up the invisibility cloak from where it had slipped off of him and exposed him on entry, then stood at the door, back to Draco for a long second, hoping, wishing Draco would say something, anything to change the way this was ending. His hand was on the doorknob when he heard his voice ringing out from the bath behind him.

“Don’t follow me again.” 

Harry pulled the door open, stepped out, and shut the door on Malfoy and the scene of their most intense exchange ever, flooded with emotions. The only thing Harry felt certain of at that moment was that he was leaving the room with more questions than he had entered with.


	2. Answers

In the 6th year Slytherin boys’ dormitory Draco Malfoy woke with a start, a damp sweat on his forehead. It took him a moment to recognize where he was. He had been having a dream- no, a nightmare in which he had been kissing Harry Potter in the bath of the Prefect’s bathroom. Kissing him and so much more. Then, when he was at the peak of his pleasure, Potter was gone, and instead he had his arms around the Dark Lord’s snake. The snake had hissed and reared its head to bite him just as he awoke. 

He laid there listening to the mixed sounds of the lake water lapping against the castle and Crabbe and Goyle’s contrasting snores, feeling his heartbeat and breathing gradually return to normal as the anxious feelings dissipated much too slowly. His eiderdown comforter was suffocatingly hot and he kicked it off, hoping the damp cool of the room would bring him back to equilibrium.

He had felt so conflicted about what had happened that it had taken him forever to fall asleep after leaving the Prefect’s bathroom. By the time his exhausted eyes had closed he had resolved nothing; so that now, awakening suddenly in the middle of the night, he couldn’t escape the painful feelings that still plagued him. It was as if he hadn’t slept at all, but worse. 

He pulled back the silk curtain of his bed, glancing at the ornate silver clock that stood on his bedside table. It was just after three o’clock in the morning- he had barely been asleep two hours. He groaned inwardly and laid back against his pillow, shutting the silk curtains to block out the ambient green light of the dormitory. 

He had only been sleeping a few hours at a time as it was, he didn’t need anything else to keep him up at night. He was only in the Prefect’s bathroom in the first place because he was hoping a bath might help him sleep. Now he was cursing his bright idea, and Harry Potter for always showing up where he was least wanted. 

Harry Potter, the only person who could draw such extreme emotions out of him, who always ruined everything for him. Harry Potter who was the reason that his father was in Azkaban, the reason why his family had been shamed. Harry Potter, the reason why his life and his family’s life was hanging on the success of the Dark Lord’s task for him.

Harry Potter who had thought himself better than Draco since their first day at Hogwarts, even as a muggle-raised half-blood. Harry Potter who was hailed as a great quidditch player but had less experience and nuance than Draco. Who was useless in Potions, Draco’s best subject, until that old walrus of a professor started teaching and giving Potter special attention. Who had always been Dumbledore’s favourite. Harry Potter who didn’t fear the Dark Lord. Harry Potter who did whatever he wanted and got away with it. Harry Potter whose carelessness and recklessness were perceived as courage and bravery, when his own common sense and self-preservation were seen as cowardice and calculation.

Draco couldn’t think of a single person he despised and resented more. Which was why he couldn’t understand what he had done earlier that night. Couldn’t understand why he had let it happen, why he had wanted it to happen, why he had enjoyed it so much. He felt disgusted with himself when he remembered how much he had enjoyed it.

Draco had known for a long time, maybe always, that he was attracted to other wizards, but it had never been a problem for him because he had never met one that was worthy of his interest, that posed a threat to his composure or control. Maybe he should have known, should have seen it earlier, but why would he want to? It was bad enough to be consumed by his hatred for Potter without also mixing in desire for someone he shouldn’t want and could never have.

But he had had him in a way. For a few delicious, discomfiting minutes he had had Harry Potter at his mercy. And he, Draco, had been the one in control. He had been the one calling the shots. He had been the one to make the famous Harry Potter beg for him, come for him. 

His dick was hardening at the memory and Draco exasperatedly pushed a palm to it as if to calm his arousal, to stop it in its tracks. It was useless, the harder he tried not to think of Potter’s dick in his hand, or worse, Potter’s hand on his dick, the quicker the memories were resurfacing in his brain. Before he knew it he was fully erect, his dick straining against his boxer shorts uncomfortably so that he had to reach down to reposition it.

He trailed his fingers over the length of his erection, fighting with himself about what to do with it. Try to think of something else and hope it went away? Or allow himself to sink into the forbidden memories of the illustrious evening? Memories of sudsy water streaming down the outline of Harry Potter’s arse through his clinging boxers as he climbed out of the bath. Of biting the smooth skin of Potter’s neck until it was deliciously red and Potter’s dick was hard against Draco’s thigh.

It was no use, Draco’s fingers were already wrapped around his length and he was stroking himself without giving conscious permission. He was shutting his eyes in an effort to remember, to return to the hot water and taste of lemon sweets on Potter’s tongue. The feeling of a handful of Potter’s thick, wet hair, the helpless look in his green eyes, the sound of his throaty moans in response to Draco’s efforts. 

Draco’s fist was moving faster and he was squeezing himself harder, feeling his foreskin sliding up over his head with each upward stroke, and back down as his hand reached the base of his dick. A generous drop of precum was dripping down his shaft, and he slid his fist over it until it was spread over his skin, making his movements slick and easy.

He tried to remember how Potter had kissed him, bit him, boldy reached into his boxers and stroked Draco’s dick, had orgasmed while he watched Draco’s face. Potter had come first, Potter had wanted him more. Potter had willingly gotten into the water and submitted to Draco. 

He tried to imagine that his fist was wrapped around Potter’s dick again instead of his own, that it was Potter who was about to cum thinking of him. Trying desperately to remember what his face looked like and his groans sounded like while he succumbed and came for Draco. Green eyes locked on Draco’s, wet hair messy from his grip, firm chest heaving with uneven breath, wet mouth and exploring tongue, and his wide palm squeezing Draco’s dick harder as Potter came, forcing Draco to orgasm at the same time. Draco could feel his climax building, his balls tightening, and then suddenly he was coming again, hard and desperate as he released hot spurts of cum all over himself inside of his boxers.

He was numb for just a second, then immediately hated himself again. He grasped his wand and vanished the mess away, shameful and angry. Frustrated with his lack of self-control. It wasn’t the first time he had ever seen Potter’s face while he masterbated, but it was the first time he did it intentionally, it was the first time he instigated it, embraced it, gave in to it. He had always told himself his mind was just wandering, the way he sometimes would find a quidditch play interrupting his thoughts when masterbating. Obviously that was not the case.

Potter was right, Draco couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. He couldn’t deny the battle that was happening inside of him. The part of him that wanted nothing more than to have claim to Potter and his orgasms over and over again. The part that wanted so much more than even they had done tonight. But the other part, the sensible part knew better.

Foolish Potter and his talk of truce. As if they could ever be anything other than what they were. Harry Potter, the Chosen One, and Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater forced to join the Dark Lord to uphold his family’s honour. Harry Potter, Dumbledore’s favourite, and Draco Malfoy, Dumbledore’s assassin. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Draco Malfoy, the boy who would surely die.

He knew that was why Potter had been following him, whatever his bluff was in the bath. Potter knew he was working on something important for the Dark Lord, and as usual had to play the hero and try to take matters into his own hands. Draco thought of his own hands around Potter’s neck, remembered with a prickly, unpleasant feeling in his stomach how red Potter’s face had become. Thought of how the fear that had stopped him from continuing to choke Potter hadn’t been because he belonged to the Dark Lord, as it should’ve been. But had instead been a mixture of horror at how he was hurting him and a secret thought that he never even acknowledged to himself- that if he killed Harry Potter no one would be able to defeat the Dark Lord.

Draco hated himself as soon as he thought it. He tried to unthink it, tried to force other, more loyal, more appropriate thoughts into his head. He knew the Dark Lord was a skilled Legilimens, and the last thing he wanted was for the Dark Lord to look into his mind and see traitorous thoughts, or to see Harry Potter in the bath with Draco in his memories and fantasies. Though his mother had been giving him Occlumency lessons he didn't trust his abilities with the Dark Lord yet, not enough to bet his life on them. He needed to force himself to forget it, because surely if he didn’t he and his family would die, fed to the Dark Lord’s snake like field mice. 

And Potter wanted a truce, maybe even an alliance, and maybe something else? But that didn’t matter, couldn’t matter, because as long as the Dark Lord lived, Draco could never do what he had done with Harry Potter again, could never be that weak again. Could never taste his tongue or stroke his dick again, could never hear him gasp in pleasure or watch him submit to Draco. He thought of standing over Potter, his mouth on Draco’s dick, sucking him as Pansy had once done, and he felt a twinge in his dick that he tried to force himself to ignore. He couldn’t do these things, couldn’t even think of them, because his life depended on it.

His eyes stung with the unfairness of it all, the shame, and anger, and desire he felt. Desire for Potter, desire for a choice. He hadn’t chosen this life, he hadn’t chosen the Dark Lord, he hadn’t chosen this task. But all he was trying to do was survive, to stay alive, to keep his family alive. And he would do whatever he must, if it meant poisoning the Headmaster, or spending months fixing a broken cabinet, or cursing Harry Potter the next time he followed him into an empty bathroom. Draco didn’t have a choice. He had never had a choice.

He rolled over, silent tears dripping heavy and fat onto his pillowcase as he resigned himself to what he knew would be another sleepless night.

**Author's Note:**

> All Harry Potter characters and content obviously belong to JK Rowling and affiliates. I am just a lowly fanfic writer playing in their world and claim no ownership thereof.


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